


My Pack

by eeyore9990



Series: 30 Thankful Days [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adults, Aftermath of Torture, BAMF Sheriff Stilinski, Eventual Sheriff/Derek, M/M, Mentions of Rape, POV Sheriff Stilinski, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, adults getting shit done, but the rape did not happen, instead of leaving it up to teenagers, there is mention of rape that is a concern but it didn't happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5222105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff Stilinski could not have imagined the scene he'd roll up on when dispatch informed him of a noise complaint at Beacon Motel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/gifts).



> 30 Thankful Days, Day 15: Gift for Leela

Responding to a noise complaint at the Beacon Motel was not high on the priority list, so John dispatched the deputies on shift to a B&E at Hank's Hardware and the domestic disturbance on Vine Street -- the third this month; John hoped the wife would go through with pressing charges this time. After making sure there was a deputy to cover the desk for walk-ins, John grabbed a set of keys and radio'd dispatch to let them know he'd check out the motel.

Considering the sort of place it was, the people making the offensive noises had probably already maxed out their hour and be long gone before he got there anyway. Driving through town, John listened to the chatter on the radio with one ear while debating which drive thru to swing by on his way back to the station.

But as he pulled into the parking lot, windows down to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, he heard it. A muffled scream of pure agony.

John had seen some shit in Beacon Hills. He'd seen death and destruction, murder, supernatural terrors that crawled through his nightmares. But the last time he'd heard a sound like that had been in his Army days, when his unit had come across a group of men brutalizing young girls. That sound required the presence of an evil so corrupt it could only be human.

He hurriedly turned down his car and shoulder radios, afraid of alerting whoever was inside the motel to his presence. Then he called it in, his voice as low as he could make it and still be heard by the emergency dispatcher. "This is the sheriff. All available units to Beacon Motel. We have a possible one-eight-seven in progress in room twenty nine. I repeat, all available units to Beacon Motel." John flipped off his shoulder radio then, unsnapping his holster and drawing his sidearm as he exited his vehicle, leaving the door open, and ran in a half-crouch toward the motel room door.

Standing to the right of the door, he reached out and tried the doorknob, relief flooding him when it turned easily under his hand. The motel was old enough to use regular keyed doors, not the electronic keycard locks, for which he gave thanks. Though his nerves were strung tight by the sounds coming from the room, his hand was rock steady. 

Another scream rang out, filling John's veins with ice, and he knew he couldn't wait for backup to arrive. Whoever was in this room couldn't wait.

In almost an undertone, John muttered, "Sheriff's department, open up," before he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open hard enough that it would open fully but not so hard as to hit the interior wall. Any surprise he could maintain could only work to his benefit.

Crouching, he peeked around the doorjamb to get a snapshot glance of the room. Ducking back, he lifted his weapon into a solid grip and closed his eyes, locking his targets in his mind's eye. Two white males, in their thirties. One at two o'clock and one at seven. The one at seven would be taken out first, then two because two was close to the limp figure strung up from the ceiling. John didn't want to add any more blood to that sagging, horror-show victim than he had to.

With a steadying breath, John spun again and entered the room, firing his weapon as he went. 7 o'clock went down with two shots, one to the knee, the other to the shoulder. Two o'clock whirled at John's first shot, lifting his own gun. But his was a pump-action shotgun hanging from a cross-shoulder strap. By the time two o'clock got the gun up and pointed, John's third bullet was lodging itself in his brain. 

Two o'clock's head snapped back, blood and brain matter mixed with bone fragments and hair decorating the old fashioned television set on its stand behind him. John didn't spare another thought for him, just kept his gun up and cleared the room, checking the bathroom and closet before stepping over to the still-living suspect and patting him down one-handed for weapons even as the bastard moaned and cried. Then, not wanting to listen to it, John brought the butt of his gun down hard against the back of the suspect's head, rendering him unconscious.

Standing, John secured the suspect then holstered his sidearm, walking toward the victim with slow, measured steps. The man was bleeding from what appeared to be several dozen knife wounds, his blood running sluggish and slow.

Depressing the radio button on his shoulder unit, John said, "Dispatch, I'm going to need two ambulances and a body bag at the motel. Have them run lights and sirens. I have one suspect in custody, one down, and the vic is in bad shape." Whispering a swift prayer that he wasn't corrupting evidence, John cut the ropes binding the guy, one arm wrapped around him to catch his weight as it sank toward the floor.

"It's okay," he rushed to say in a professional, soothing tone. "I'm with the Sheriff's Department. You're safe now. We're going to get you to the hospital and--"

"Sh'f." The man rolled his head up, obviously trying to look at John through eyelids that were swollen nearly shut. 

"That's right," John said, easing his palm along the top of the man's head, the only part of his body that appeared unharmed. The black hair was thick to the touch, soft. It was that very softness that made John's hands tremble for the first time since he'd pulled up to the motel. "I'm the sheriff. You're going to be okay, son."

The man let out a pitiful sound of relief before collapsing against John, his big body trembling like a leaf. John stiffened, afraid to touch him for fear it would make the man hurt more, but instead he just curved his body into John's and rasped, " _Home._ "

"We'll get you home." John looked around the room again, searching for… Ah ha. A black wallet, soft with age. Stretching, he hooked the tips of his fingers over the edge and dragged it toward himself, flipping it open to see if it belonged to the man leaning heavily against him.

What he saw nearly stopped his heart in his chest. 

" _Derek?!_ " Looking again, he still couldn't see anything that identified this man as the boy who had already experienced so much pain in this town. Gently, gently John eased him up and craned his neck over the man's shoulder to get a look at his back. Sure enough, that big, black curlicue of a tattoo was there, dark against the pale skin. "Jesus, kid," he whispered, his voice harsh.

If this was Derek, then these men were hunters. John felt rage stir in him, more than the old anger he had learned to swallow down in his first year on the job. This rage was personal. Sharp and biting. It made him want to kill these men slowly.

Instead, he thought about his back up. About the ambulance he could already hear coming closer.

"Derek," he said again, his voice urgent. "The EMTs will be here in less than a minute. You're not healing, but I don't want to send you to the hospital if you _will._ I can call Deaton or…" And then, because he had to ask, "Did they use anything? Mountain ash? _You aren't healing,"_ he repeated, fingers pressing at a wound on Derek's side.

Derek whined softly, his head rolling forward. "Omega," he whispered, and it was the saddest sound John had ever heard.

"Fuck that," he growled, low and angry. "Omegas don't have a pack. You do. Derek, _we_ are your pack."

Derek slid a little sideways, his head giving the tiniest shake. "Not pack. Don't need me."

"You're wrong about that. They never stopped needing you. But even if you weren't wrong about those kids, you're part of _my_ pack, you hear me? You said humans can be pack? Well, buddy, you're mine, so get to healing. Because my little pack can't afford to lose members."

Derek's eyes opened a little further, enough for John to see the fragile look in them.

"Mine," John repeated, his hand slipping around to grip the back of Derek's neck, the action feeling _right_. "You're my pack."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew as soon as I "finished" My Pack that I wasn't anywhere near done with this universe. I have the plot of the first four or so chapters lined out, but I'm totally winging this. 
> 
> BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELTS. IT'S GONNA BE A WILD RIDE. Also, I am not a Sheriff or a medical professional. I know jack shit about being one of them. Everything you see here is me making shit up.
> 
> Also, for those who are unaware, this fic is endgame Sheriff/Derek.

John stayed by Derek's side the entire time the EMTs were working him over. Derek wasn't healing, which was worrisome, but what truly drove a spike of fear through his heart was the strength of Derek's grip. It was weak, his hand almost sliding free of John's multiple times.

Leaning down, John murmured in Derek's ear, "Hey, I need to call Melissa. Are you gonna be okay if I step over there a minute?" John pointed to an awning-covered door that was out of the way of the various law enforcement personnel moving quickly in and out of the motel. 

Derek whimpered quietly, a sheen in his eyes that John didn't like. Fierce protectiveness rose in him, blotting out all else. 

"Okay," he said. "Okay, I'll stay right here. I'll be _right here_ , with you. Melissa's a bright woman. She'll read between the lines." Pulling his phone from his pocket, John hit the number he had programmed into his speed dial for Melissa and waited impatiently for her to pick up. 

" _John?_ "

"Hey, Mel. I've got a vic here that's a special case. Is Dr. Geyer on duty?" John held his breath, waiting. Waiting for Melissa to process his words and discern his meaning. Waiting for her to complicate things by being off shift or telling him Dr. Geyer was. Just waiting for more things to go to shit on a day when everything else was steadily sliding sideways.

 _"We're both on shift but he's in surgery,"_ she said, her voice hushed. _"I can have him out before you get here, though. The Sheriff has the authority to request specific personnel under special circumstances; it's up to you. Make the call."_

"Consider this that call. The EMTs are loading him up now. And Mel?"

_"Yeah, John?"_

"It's Derek Hale." He heard her soft _oh my god_ even as he was pushing the button to hang up. Turning to Darla, the EMT that was just finishing up putting a saline drip in Derek -- because those bastards hadn't just tortured him, they'd starved and dehydrated him as well -- John jerked his head, beckoning her closer. "Listen," he said, his gaze flickering down to Derek, whose eyes were closed. "There's no easy way to say this, but I'd like to order a _full_ kit."

Darla's eyelids fluttered, her jaw clenching tight for a moment, but she finally nodded. "You got it, Sheriff. I'll note that on the paperwork. They'll want to sedate him anyway, so I think--"

"No." Derek's voice was a broken shell of what John knew it to be, but it was firm. "If you're talking about a r-rape kit. I don't need one."

John crouched down next to the gurney Derek was laid out on. Squeezing the hand still in his grip, he said, "I know you don't want it, but I need to know what they did to you. Were you unconscious at any point?" 

He hated this part of his job. He _fucking_ hated it, but he knew how necessary it was. A jury inured to torture through media violence would still flinch at the idea of a good looking, big and buff man being sodomized. They'd react worse to that than to a _woman_ in a similar situation, and that was a truth that turned John's stomach. But it was the reality they had to live with, so he owed it to Derek to make sure these bastards -- and anyone working with them -- were put away for the longest amount of time possible.

"No," Derek whispered with a sigh, his eyes falling shut again. "I was awake for it all." 

John dropped his head to the edge of the gurney, needing to get his emotions under control, because the flat acceptance in Derek's voice… No one should be that blasé about violence committed against their person. 

"All right," he finally said, lifting his head and using his free hand to brush the hair off Derek's forehead. "All right." 

Looking up at Darla, John shook his head. She looked conflicted, but finally scratched through something on the paperwork. 

Ready to go, Darla and her partner, a kid John hadn't worked with before, loaded the gurney into the ambulance. The jolting made Derek cringe, which had John barking out a command to be gentle.

"Sorry, Sheriff. You know how stiff these things--"

"He's suffered enough, dammit," John muttered gruffly, climbing up onto the rear bumper. Turning, he searched the personnel skittering back and forth around the clearly-marked crime scene, looking for… "Parrish!"

Jordan looked up, said something to the investigator he'd been standing near, then adjusted his gun belt before trotting over to the ambulance. "Sir?"

Tossing Parrish the keys to his cruiser, John said, "Have someone take my vehicle back to the station. And let IA know I'll have my weapon discharge statement in by the end of shift tomorrow. I'm riding with Hale; we'll need another deputy to come take our statements." Looking up when the other ambulance pulled out running lights and sirens, John said, "Call ahead to make sure the marshals have arrived at the hospital. I read that bastard his rights, but if he gets away, he'll disappear." Careful of other ears, he shared a long look with Parrish. "He's part of a group that has hurt innocents in this town before. Including Hale's family. They will _not_ get away with this." 

Parrish nodded, his boyish face gone deadly serious. "Sir, you sure you should--"

"I know where my place is," John said, cutting him off. "My place is at Hale's side because it's high time _someone_ in this town was. I'll face any consequences that come down the pipe. But he's _mine_ ; he's under my protection. These people will know that to their final breath."

John slammed the door shut and called to the front of the ambulance that they were good to go. When he sank onto the bench seat and took Derek's hand back in his own, he caught Darla looking at him, lips pursed. Raising an eyebrow, he silently dared her to say _anything_ , but she just looked down at the mess of cuts and bruises and burns that was Derek Hale and lost her challenging expression as her face went soft with professional sympathy.

"I didn't hear anything, Sheriff."

Grunting, John sat back and closed his eyes, allowing his body to sway with the movement of the ambulance, getting in a quick catnap while he could.

\--

"Sheriff," Dr. Geyer greeted, striding quickly across the small private room they'd shoved Derek into upon arrival. A private room that John had thrown the weight of his badge behind acquiring; he wanted something easily defensible in case the hunters came after their own.

"Doc," John said, reaching forward to shake Geyer's hand only to hesitate halfway and pull it back. He didn't want to be the reason Geyer had to spend ten minutes disinfecting himself all over again; that was ten minutes longer Derek had to wait in pain. 

Glancing to Melissa, who was busily checking Derek's vitals and speaking to him in a soft, soothing, motherly voice, John turned back to Geyer and murmured, "He was awake for it all. My biggest concern is that he isn't healing. He claims to be Omega -- which I assured him was wrong in every way -- but I don't know what they did to him that he still has this kind of damage," John checked his watch and did some quick calculations, "at least thirty minutes after we got him free."

Geyer's mouth tightened. "John, I've spent time with Alan, you know that, but I still don't know everything about _them_. I'm trying to learn because I want to be able to help my son if he needs me, but this is magic. This isn't like medical school where I have ten advisors to answer questions that come up. And hell, it's medicine _anyway_ ; every single patient I see in this place is different. I just…" He blew out a breath. "I think maybe we should get Alan in here--"

"No!" Derek shouted hoarsely, struggling to sit up. "No. No." He went to rip out his I.V. lines only to find Melissa there, preventing him from doing so. Whether from overall weakness or just an unwillingness to hurt her, Derek fell back against his pillow, shaking his head. "Not Deaton."

John was at his side before Melissa finished tucking Derek's sheets around him. "Okay, Derek. Okay. We won't call him. Did he… Derek, did Deaton…?"

Derek looked at him, his forehead wrinkling as his mouth worked, obviously searching for words. "He let them burn. He was supposed to help them; he was her _emissary_. But he let them burn. I can't--"

"Shhh, now. It's okay." Meeting Melissa's troubled gaze, he rubbed a thumb over the wrinkle in the middle of Derek's forehead, being careful of the jagged edge of a cut that spidered toward it. "I won't call him. He won't come near you again. If you don't trust him, I don't trust him. It's that simple."

Derek's eyelids started to flutter then, like he was fighting to stay awake. His lips parted, a word caught on them, but John just shushed him.

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. Not ever again."

Muscles going slack, Derek finally gave in to the sedatives pumping into his veins, but not before he destroyed John with a simple, quiet, " _Alpha._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: I don't think Deaton is a bad guy, though I have some serious questions about what the fuck he was doing when Kate was targeting the Hale pack. I definitely don't think Derek trusts him, and when he's weakened and hurt, I really think he'd react negatively to the idea of going to Deaton for help. So. Please don't view this as character bashing. I mean, if you want to, I can't stop you. But it's not my intention.


	3. Chapter 3

John went over the last few hours in his head, writing down the details as he remembered them. Thankfully the crime scene photographer hadn't blinked at John's request that she get shots of Derek before he'd been put into the ambulance so he didn't have to worry that any quick healing from this point on would prevent this case going to trial.

If nothing else, he knew a few drag queens who were quite good with makeup and didn't seem to question the goings on in the town too closely. He wondered if any of them, Phoenix specifically, were something a little more than human, but it seemed impolite to ask.

He was just signing the report and starting on his firearm discharge statement when he heard Stiles' voice. Looking up, he felt relief sweep over him to see Scott right at his heels. He didn't know exactly what was going on with Derek, but he hoped Scott could give him some guidance here.

And then he had to blow out a long, shaky breath because what had his life come to that he was looking to a wet behind the ears kid for advice on how to handle a werewolf who'd lost everyone he ever loved?

"Where is he?" Stiles asked, looking up and down the hallways like he expected that Derek had just popped off for some snacks at the vending machine. 

John stood and herded them both to the doorway of the private room Derek was in, the slow and steady beeping coming from the monitors enough to soothe a bit of the itch under his own skin. He unconsciously blocked the door when Scott went to enter, though, something about letting people in without Derek's knowledge or permission grating on his nerves. "He's resting," John said by way of explanation, even if the surprise and confusion in Scott's gaze told him the kid wasn't buying it.

Stiles' hand caught his sleeve, tugging on it. "Oh my god. He's…" 

The shock and horror in his kid's voice actually made John feel a little better. Maybe this life hadn't burned all the innocence out of Stiles yet.

John set a hand on Stiles' shoulder, squeezing, letting him take a little strength from his old man. "Yeah, they did quite the number on him."

"Dad." Stiles' eyes, so like his mother's, flicked to his, worry strong in them even as he tried to cover it up with bravado. "He shouldn't still be--"

"Isaac, remember?" Scott murmured, cutting Stiles off. 

John's eyebrows went up. "Explain."

"Isaac got worked over--"

"Alphas though. But Cora--"

"Yeah, wasn't that also the alphas?"

John held up a hand, irritation filling him as the ScottandStiles show played out in the middle of the damn hospital. "Hey!" 

Scott looked up, then ducked his head, his shoulders sliding up just a little to leave him looking sheepish. Stiles ran a hand through his hair, agitation making his fingers twitch even as he met Scott's eyes. As always, a thousand thoughts seemed to fly between them without either having to say a word. 

"Okay so, a little while back, Isaac got hurt," Stiles finally said, apparently the spokesperson for the day. "He got hurt by Alphas, though, which was why it took so long for him to heal. And then, well… you remember Cora? She got injured in a fight with another Alpha, or maybe even the same one? I don't know, at that point with the Darach, everything was all starting to blur together. Anyway, injuries from Alphas heal human slow. Or if not human slow, then still a lot slower than injuries from other betas or just from normal wear and tear."

"So you think an Alpha werewolf had something to do with why Derek's in the shape he's in?" John asked, skepticism heavy in his voice. "I seriously doubt it. These guys who had him… They didn't strike me as the sort who'd consort with the enemy."

"What I don't understand," Scott said, his jaw flexing, "is why I didn't feel him. I should have. They brought him into _my_ territory… _Hale_ territory…" Scott shook his head. "I should have felt something from him and I didn't. Was there mountain ash?"

John closed his eyes, picturing everything in his mind. He'd run up to the hotel room, opened the door… but there hadn't been any ash. "Not in the room or around it but there was something in the ropes they were using to tie him up."

"That wouldn't matter." Scott closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Between one breath and the next, something _huge_ and threatening seemed to fill the air, making it almost hard to breathe. It was _power_ , and John had never felt its like before. "I still can't feel him," Scott whispered, opening eyes that were slowly fading from red to brown. 

"He claimed to be Omega. I know from what Stiles has told me," John said, tipping his head toward his son, "that means he doesn't have an Alpha or a pack. But--"

"No." Scott cut him off, shaking his head as his forehead furrowed, trying to puzzle out what his other senses were telling him. "No, he's not Omega. I just… there's something weird about it. He's not drawing power from his Alpha or a pack the way a wolf would and it's--" He shook his head, stepping back. "We should call Dea--"

"No," John growled. "No Deaton."

Scott jerked backward, eyes blinking in surprise. "But he's--"

"No. End of discussion. Besides, the only reason to look for an Alpha would be if he has another one. He says he doesn't, which is good enough for me. He's under my protection now."

Scott's chin went down a little, his eyes dropping. "Okay then. Maybe Satomi knows something. I can ask her."

"Don't mention Derek's name. Just tell her we've got a werewolf whose healing isn't kicking in after an attack by hunters. Until he wakes up, I don't want anyone else knowing he's in this state. Got it?" he asked, his voice dropping low and stern as he stared from Stiles to Scott and back again.

"Yes, sir," they both mumbled quickly.

"And Scott, I want you to put the word out to the other kids that there are hunters in the area. A buddy system seems like a good idea right about now. For all we know, these two were the only ones, but I just can't shake the idea that there had to be more. I just don't see someone like Derek going down so easily to those two." John looked at his watch and swore softly. "All right, boys, if you don't mind standing guard until I get back, I've got some paperwork to drop off downtown. Derek should be out for a few more hours based on the rate at which he's healing and the sedatives they've got him on." Clapping Scott on the shoulder, he added, "Your mom can fill you in on that."

Stiles got a quick hug and then John was gathering up his things and making for the exit. He was almost out the doors when he heard Stiles call for him to, "Wait up!"

"What's up, kid?"

Fidgeting, Stiles shifted his weight from one foot to the other until suddenly he threw his arms around John and squeezed tight. John returned it easily, savoring this increasingly rare moment. 

"I love you, Dad," Stiles whispered. "And I know I don't say it enough, but I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of you too, son," John murmured back, pressing a kiss to the side of Stiles' head. Closing his eyes, he breathed him in, the scents of sweat and sun and stale sugar making him smile and relax a little, even after the hellish day he'd had. 

"We're gonna find these guys, right?" There was something small and lost in Stiles' voice, a breaking down of that almost manic courage his kid seemed determined to hide behind these days.

"Yes, I will," John promised.

\--

After dropping off his paperwork and pushing a few meetings back, John went home and undressed quickly and easily, falling into the routine of it. His gun and belt came off first and were secured in his gun safe after a thorough cleaning. Then he took off his uniform and stripped the velcro patches and name tag off it before throwing the whole set in the hamper to be washed later. 

In the bathroom, he braced his hands against the edges of the sink and stared himself in the eye. What he was about to do was something he wouldn't ordinarily condone, but there wasn't anything 'ordinary' about this situation. Nodding at the man in the mirror, he set his jaw, decision made.

He walked through his bedroom to his closet and took down a small fingerprint safe from the top of it. From inside, he withdrew an easily-concealed 9mm handgun in a inside-the-pants holster. Slipping the gun from the holster, he went over it carefully with eyes and fingers before he loaded six rounds into an empty magazine and popped it in. Chambering a round, he put the safety on and slid it back in the holster before dragging his jeans off the back of his chair. His eyes stayed glued to the gun the entire time he got dressed; instead of making him question himself, it steeled his resolve.

Before he secured the holster into the small of his back -- easily concealed beneath the tail of an untucked, slightly large shirt -- John took his badge and Sheriff's pin and set them on his dresser. Then he grabbed the keys to his personal vehicle and his wallet and walked out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

John raised his hand, his fingers curled into a fist he hovered over the door, taking a deep breath before he knocked sharply. As he waited for someone on the other side to answer, he pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text to Stiles asking for an update. The door opened before he could receive a response, and he looked up to see Chris Argent standing there, eyebrows raised in polite query.

"Hello, Sheriff." Argent stood his ground, far too savvy to simply invite in an unexpected officer of the law.

Smart man.

"Just John, Chris," John said lightly, rocking back on his heels and doing his best to exude a calm and friendly manner, even as everything inside him continued to rage. Rage against everything this man had once stood for… if he didn't _still_.

Argent's eyes swept over him, taking in the casual clothing. With a delayed welcoming smile, he opened the door wider and indicated for John to enter. "What brings you by, _John_?" he asked, the emphasis on John's first name light, but still deliberate.

"I thought I'd drop by and let you know about a recent development. Get your thoughts on it. See where you stand." Once the door shut behind Chris, John turned toward him and dropped the bullshit, let the icy anger that roiled through him fill his voice. "See if you have anything to do with it."

Chris stiffened, cold blue eyes narrowing and mouth tightening as his fingers twitched at his side. 

He _was_ carrying then; good to know. 

"Anything to do with what, Sheriff?" 

Catching the switch to his title, John let his lips curve up into a tight smile. "Not here with a badge, Argent. Just a shit ton of questions." And then, because John didn't have _time_ for beating around the bush, he baldly asked, "Why are there hunters in my town?"

Argent's poker face was second to none, but John still caught the brief flare of his eyelids, the widening that told him the question surprised Argent. Which either meant Argent didn't know about these other hunters… or he was trying to draw John off the scent. 

"What hunters? Do you know their names?" Argent stepped forward, almost aggressive in his pursuit of an answer.

"The one I put in the hospital was taken in without any identification and he's not talking. The one I put in the morgue is also not talking for obvious reasons, nor was he carrying any ID."

Argent shoved a hand through his hair, eyes flicking back and forth as he processed the information. "No, they wouldn't bring anything that could get them on a watch list," he muttered, then pulled his phone out and punched in a long string of numbers. When John opened his mouth to question who he was calling, Argent held up a finger, a demand for patience, and then there came the tinny voice of someone answering the other end. "Good, you haven't left for the airport yet. Stay there. There are hunters in town and I don't want you flying in until I've dealt with them." There was a pause as the other person -- the voice decidedly male -- argued on the other end, but Chris stopped them with a quiet, "I won't risk you. I'll call the airline and arrange for another flight for later in the week. Just… let me take care of this, Isaac. Please."

John took a step back, nearly sagging at that name. He hadn't been sure, didn't want to push too hard in case the kid had been yet another unfortunate victim of this town. But if Chris Argent had taken in Isaac Lahey… there was little chance he was actually working with the unknown hunters who'd rolled into town.

As soon as Chris hung up, John asked, just to be sure, "The Lahey kid?"

Chris stared at him for a long moment, chin lifted high like he was daring John to say anything. When John just stood there, refusing to judge him, Chris relaxed his shoulders slightly, rolling them. "Yeah, he was going to catch a flight back tonight, but if there are strange hunters in town…" The muscle in Chris' jaw jumped as he stared down at the phone clutched tight in his hand. "If there are hunters in town and I don't know about it--" He blew out a breath and raised his eyes back to John's. "It's likely that this is a message for _me_. That it's _personal._ The bigger families would know not to piss in my pond, but some of the smaller, more radical groups?"

Unable to stop himself, John raised an eyebrow and asked softly, "The ones like your sister?"

Chris closed his eyes, nodding. "My sister and my father, yes. Tell me everything you know. If you can."

John considered that for a long moment. It wasn't exactly classified, but he didn't like talking about ongoing cases with civilians. It was a conditioned response that was broken by the pinging of his cell phone. Pulling it out, he glanced at the display and breathed out a sigh. "Derek Hale," he began, and looked up in time to see the skin around Chris' eyes flinch, their color deepening with a sort of subdued horror, "was taken by two unidentified men and tortured for at least two days before our department received a noise complaint."

"A noise complaint?" Chris' eyebrows winged upward, like he was surprised. 

"Screaming."

Chris went pale under his tan, but pressed his lips together and nodded for John to continue.

"I killed the one who was actively torturing Hale and incapacitated his partner. I'm fairly certain, though, that these two weren't acting alone. I haven't seen the crime scene reports yet, but I'd be willing to bet that there will be evidence of at least one other. _At least._ "

"You think they stepped out and that's why these two lost control and were discovered." Chris scratched at the hair on his jaw, eyes a little unfocused as he turned that thought over. "That sounds likely, actually. Most hunters aren't sloppy enough to get caught for something like a noise complaint. And Hale, after all that he's been through, wouldn't be an easy wolf to take down. "

"That _man_ has been through enough." John stepped forward, getting right in Chris' face as he lowered his voice to a threatening growl. "And this shouldn't need stating, but I'll do it anyway. Feel free to spread the word: Derek Hale is under _my_ protection. Consider me his…" John tilted his head, baring his teeth in a smile too sharp to be friendly. "Alpha."

Chris stared back at him for a long moment before he dipped his head in a nod. "So noted." He eased backward, a calculated retreat, and kept his unblinking gaze on John. "We're not enemies here, John. I want these hunters tracked down as much as you do. I have a special… interest of my own, if you'll remember."

"I remember only that Lahey disappeared. Until I see him whole and unharmed…" John's fingers tapped impatiently at his side. "I don't have time for this to devolve into a pissing contest. You want to find the hunters and so do I."

"I'll find them." It was an oath; a promise from one hardened man to another.

"When you do," John said, letting there be no question to his order on this, "you'll bring them to me. You will _not_ act outside the boundaries of the law, or I'll be happy to throw your ass in a cell and book you for murder. Do we understand each other?"

"Clearly. What will you do with them?"

"Match the evidence. I've got everything I need to put them away for a long time. Including," he added idly, "Derek Hale's testimony."

Chris' hand came down on his arm, his grip firm. "A long time may not be long enough, John. These families… their memories last generations. Remember that."

"You trying to warn me off?" John stiffened, his eyes narrowing.

"If this was a message for _me,_ and Hale got mixed up in it…" There was a wealth of meaning in the silence.

"You honestly think a score as big as a Hale wouldn't be enough of a draw for a hunter?" Shit, even _John_ knew how important they were in the wider world of the supernatural. And with the not-quite-secret fact that Derek could shift fully into a wolf, he'd probably be quite the trophy, indeed.

Chris nodded, conceding that logic. "Still. This seems a little too convenient. I get back to town and suddenly another family is in my territory going after a member of a pack that I have an alliance with?"

They looked at each other for a long moment before John nodded, recognizing the possibility. "Find them, then. Find them and get whatever information you need, but then you _bring them in._ I want my shot at them, after all. They hurt one of _mine_."

"Acknowledged. _Alpha._ "

John didn't bother staying to berate the man for the sarcasm that had underscored that word. It was enough that he'd used it; that a hunter, no matter how retired he claimed to be, acknowledge he understood exactly where John's priorities lay.

John shook himself out of his thoughts as he exited the house and strode quickly to his car, hitting the speed dial for Stiles. 

" _Hey, Dad._ "

"Hey, kiddo. I'm calling for another update. I got your message that he was still sleeping earlier. Is that still the case?"

" _Yeah. He's out cold. Mrs. McCall says he's going to be that way for at least another half-hour, but Dad…_ "

"Spit it out, kid." John started the car and put it in gear, taking off quickly and heading in the direction of the hospital, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. He'd feel guilty about it later, right now he needed information..

" _He's starting to heal. About five minutes ago, Scott perked up and said he was, anyway. I don't know what changed, but even I can tell the bruises are less dark than they were a few minutes ago. So I don't know how long that knock out juice is going to continue to work, you know?_ "

"I understand, son. I'll be there inside of ten minutes. If he wakes up before I'm back, just let him know I'm on my way." John threw the phone in the seat and pressed just a bit harder on the gas.

He _needed_ to be there when Derek woke up. Needed to be the first thing Derek saw. Needed to prove there was someone in this damned town who could be counted on to _be there_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A world of thanks go to Mikeys_grrl and inell for their brainstorming help on Chapters 4 and 5 (and honestly the rest of the fic lol).
> 
> Y'all rock!

John stared down at Derek, watching his body grow restless as his mind fought the effects of the sedatives keeping him asleep. Reaching forward, John grasped Derek's hand in his own, feeling the softness of the skin, the heat of it. Feeling also the anger burning deep inside himself at the smooth perfection of Derek's skin. Not because he'd healed but because John had to wonder at the patchwork of scars that _should_ be there. How many times Derek's body had betrayed him by covering up the horrors done to it.

Scott and Stiles stood in the corner of the room, talking in low tones about something -- probably the threat to the pack from hunters, if John knew his boys. 

"You two stay out of this," John muttered, looking up and pinning each of them with a hard stare. "I've got Parrish and Argent working it from two different angles. As far as we know, these hunters aren't after you. They aren't _aware_ of you. I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible. I don't want done to you what happened to--" Derek's fingers tightening around his own made John look down, see the way Derek's face twisted and his eyelids fluttered as he came up out of sleep.

When his eyes opened, groggy and confused and _wary_ , so very wary, John made sure he was there, the first thing Derek saw. He watched, some part of him humming with satisfaction, at the way Derek relaxed almost instantly. Like he knew he was safe, that _John_ was safe for him.

"Hey." Without really thinking about it, John reached down with his free hand, sliding his fingers soothingly through the thick hair that lay matted on the side of Derek's head, just under the snowy white bandages. And then, because he wasn't sure how long they had, he said, "You're at BHMC, it's just the boys and I here." He waited while Derek's eyes flickered toward the corner where Scott and Stiles waved at him a little awkwardly -- _Jesus_ , they were young -- and his lips hitched up at the corner.

"Long time no see," Stiles burst out with, too much forced cheer in his voice.

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling in a bid for patience, John sighed and hooked a foot around the guest chair, dragging it over and dropping into it. "I don't know how long we have 'til the nurses figure out you're awake. Melissa's supposed to be covering for us, but if she's with another patient--"

Derek nodded, sitting up as he moved to rip the IV lines out of his arm. 

"Oh hey!" Scott protested, leaping forward. "Don't do that, man. You want to do this right, okay? Plus, mom will be _pissed_. She's always talking about idiots that do that shit on tv, so like… you know?"

John nodded. "He's right. We're going to play this exactly as we should. The only two people who got a good look at you from the hospital staff were Melissa and Dr. Geyer--"

When Derek's face crumpled in something like fear with a healthy sprinkling of confusion, Scott rushed to say, "Liam's dad. He knows about everything. He's a good guy."

"He is," John confirmed. "He's a good man and a great doctor. No one will question him and we made sure your paperwork was detailed enough for the courts without drawing any suspicion from anyone about your face looking untouched. We can write off any blood someone might have seen there as transfer, but we had Melissa put some bandages around your head because the kind of head wounds you sustained… we couldn't leave those off your records. I didn't _want_ to leave those off your records."

"So what…" Derek coughed, his face screwing up as his voice came out hoarse and whisper-thin. 

Scott filled a cup with water and plunked a straw in it, holding it up for Derek. 

Derek looked from the cup to Scott to John, prompting John to murmur, "Have a drink; you must be parched."

And then Derek stretched forward, taking the straw into his mouth and nearly gulping at the cool water.

"Whoa, dude," Scott said, face creasing with concern as he pulled the cup back. "Not too much. Just sip. I know you've _probably_ already flushed all the drugs from your system, but those sedatives kind of have awful side effects. You don't want to throw up right now, trust me."

Derek raised a hand, pressing it to his side as he nodded. "Yeah. Ribs are still healing."

Closing his eyes, John took a steadying breath before he opened them again and said, "Speaking of that. I need your unedited statement. I need to know everything _you_ know about the people who took you. We'll edit it later for the actual police report -- Parrish will speak with you later about that -- but the more information we have, the more likely we are to catch them. I need to know who they were, how many of them there were, what they did, anything they said."

Derek's breath hitched for a second before he met John's gaze. "There's… not much to tell. There were six different people, though never more than four at a time. They didn't _say_ anything. Even when they took me--"

"Where'd they take you from?" Stiles asked, that look on his face that made John think he might be an excellent law man someday, if he could keep himself from the temptation of becoming a Mafia don instead.

"Alaska. I had a little house up there."

 _Alaska?_ John blinked in surprise only to find that Scott and Stiles were nodding like this made perfect sense.

Stiles must have caught the bewilderment on his face because he shrugged. "I was in contact with Braeden for a while, and she said they parted ways in Canada. I didn't think he'd come back this way, but as an American citizen… Alaska's remote, has a lot of land and wilderness and _privacy_. Very low population."

"Remote…" John said, nodding absently as he thought about this. "How did they find you, then?"

Derek's eyes slid closed, the pinched look on his face one of pain. Turmoil. "I don't know. I didn't hear them or smell them. They came for me in the middle of the day and I just… I didn't even know they were there."

"They disguised their _scent_?" Scott asked, and for the first time looked a little nervous.

Derek shook his head. "Only when they took me. Once they had me, they didn't seem to care."

"Could you positively identify them if you saw any of them again?"

Derek's gaze flickered toward the door, Scott's too. Though their time was apparently up, Derek squeezed John's hand where it was still entwined with Derek's own. "Yeah."

"Okay, boys," Melissa called as she bustled in from the hallway. "One of you was supposed to tell me when our patient woke up." She smiled brightly, smacking John on the shoulder as her eyes flickered to the doorway. Likely warning them she wasn't alone.

John carefully disentangled his hand from Derek's, shushing him softly when a look of panic flashed through his eyes. Turning to Melissa, he smiled, all genial good-ol-boy, and said, "Ah, Mel, he just woke up. Give us a break."

"Hmm, well," Melissa pulled a machine over and pushed a few buttons, waiting for the blood pressure cuff secured around Derek's arm to fill up as another nurse came in, dragging a cart behind her. "I suppose I'll forgive you just this once. As long as you weren't hounding him with questions, Sheriff."

"Nah, just here as a friend, Mel. I've got one of my deputies running this case for me since I'm a bit too close to it. Don't want anyone claiming personal involvement." John watched closely as the new nurse went around the other side of Derek's bed, checking the monitors and the IV readout.

"Dr. Geyer wants to look in on Mr. Hale again," she said, turning just enough that John could read the _Sherry Figueroa_ on her name badge. Smiling kindly down at Derek, she patted the bed just beside his arm. "Your MRI results were clear."

Startled, John looked at Melissa, who pursed her lips and gave a tiny shake of her head before she agreed and added, "Looks like you'll be discharged in an hour or so."

John's eyebrows shot up again, but he certainly wasn't going to argue about that.

Derek, however, opened his mouth, eyes moving from one person to the next as he said, "I don't have anywhere--"

"You'll come home with me," John said, his voice firm. Then, because Nurse Sherry was looking at him a little oddly, he amended that to, "With _us_ ," nodding at Stiles who was glaring at the nurse like she'd personally offended him.

Yeah, his kid liked hospitals as much as John did.

"Well, that sounds like it's all settled then. I'll take these reports to Dr. Geyer, then, and we'll see about getting you out of here in time for dinner." Nurse Sherry gathered up the charts again and placed them on the cart, pushing everything out the door. "Open or shut?" she asked, but Scott beat her to it, following her out after a pointed look from John and pulling it closed behind him.

Good. Hopefully the kid followed her to make sure she didn't stop to talk to _anyone_ on the way to Dr. Geyer. And hell, he needed to figure out the man's first name, especially if they were going to be involving him in the messes this town made from time to time.

Sitting back in his chair, John dragged his hands over his face, trying to think. A hand touched him and he looked up, into Derek's eyes. There was a connection there, one he could feel right down to his bones. He knew that sometime in the last five hours, Derek had gone from just another sad victim of this town to _John's_. 

He just didn't know what the hell to do about it. He'd declared himself this man's Alpha without having the first damn clue what that really meant.

"I need to talk to an Alpha," he sighed, reaching over to clasp Derek's hand again. It seemed to calm him, steady him, and John felt a little calmer and steadier in turn.

Melissa, still lingering in the room, arched a brow at him. "Want me to get Scott?"

That startled a laugh out of John. "No offense, Mel, Scott's a good kid and he's doing the best he can. I know that. But is there an Alpha I can speak with that I _didn't_ catch eating glue last week?" Okay, it was an exaggeration, but… not much of one. 

And he saw the way Melissa softened, relaxed and relieved, that she felt the same gnawing frustration that he'd been feeling ever since Stiles showed him that damn chess board.

It was past time for the adults to get some shit done in this town.

"Hey, Alpha Ito?" 

John startled, having almost forgotten Stiles was still in the room with them. 

His kid just grinned at him, gesturing to the phone in his hand as he continued, "Yeah, it's Stiles. My dad has a few questions for you."


	6. Chapter 6

John wrapped a hand under Derek's elbow, making a pointed show of helping him into the house. The action served two purposes: it would spread the word among the busybody network that Derek was convalescing at the county Sheriff's house; and, it gave John a reasonable excuse to touch Derek. 

During the quick and dirty talk he'd had with Satomi Ito on Stiles' phone, she'd stressed the importance of touch, of physical closeness helping the bond between Alpha and Beta to not only strengthen but grow organically until they would be able to sense the other even when apart. She'd somewhat hesitantly mentioned that she wasn't sure that a human Alpha would be able to feel the bond, but that it would help Derek immeasurably.

Thankfully, Satomi had cleared her schedule for the following afternoon, promising to come out and give him a more in-depth tutorial in all things Alpha, because quick and dirty wasn't going to cut it forever. Now all John had to do was make sure his house was safe not only for Derek and Scott's pack, but the Ito pack Alpha as well. Jesus, this was getting complicated. John slid a glance sideways at Derek as he slowly climbed the stairs of the porch — playing up his now-healed injuries for the benefit of onlookers — and decided giving Derek a space to feel safe wasn't exactly going to be a hardship.

Derek must have felt him looking, because he turned his head, their gazes clashing and holding for a moment as they finally got to the front door. His lips, flushed a healthy pink, parted and his eyelashes fluttered as he lowered his eyes respectfully, tilting his chin in a tiny, natural motion that bared his throat.

John moved his hand from under Derek's elbow and trailed it up the hard curve of his bicep, over the muscular roundness of his shoulder, and settled against the side of Derek's neck, a touch that to any outsider would look completely natural, but allowed John to lightly drag his thumb over the pulse that beat strong and steady in Derek's throat, acknowledging Derek's show of submission. "You good?" John asked, needing his own bit of reassurance.

Pale eyes flickering up to meet his again, Derek nodded, his lips quirking at the corners. 

"All right, well, this is your arena… anything smell wrong? Do you smell any of the people who took you?" John dropped his hand, stepping back a bit to give Derek space to do his thing. He didn't want to cause a distraction at a time like this. 

Derek's forehead pinched a little in concentration as his nostrils flared, eyes flashing brightest blue for just a moment as he opened his senses to the world around them. "I smell mountain ash," he said, his voice quiet, "but none of the people who took me. I don't smell hate."

"Good enough for me," John muttered and unlocked the door. Before he opened it, though, he reminded Derek, "Let me sweep the downstairs before you come in too far. Oh, and the mountain ash is Stiles'. He keeps some stored at everyone's houses for emergencies as well as crushed wolfsbane in the event any of the pack gets shot by hunters."

Derek nodded easily, obviously having expected that much. He followed John inside the house, dutifully waiting behind the bulk of the security door while John pulled his gun out of the small of his back and checked the bottom floor for any sign of intruders. 

John trusted Derek's nose, but since the hunters had masked their scent when taking him before, it wouldn't do to let their guard down and allow history to repeat itself. On his soft-footed trek through the kitchen, John grabbed a bottle of water and, upon finishing his circuit, handed it to Derek. "All clear," he said, then pulled his phone out and fired off a quick text to Stiles, letting his kid know they were at the house. As he hit send, a new message came in and John swiped to read it. "Parrish will be stopping by tomorrow morning before his shift to take your official statement."

Lowering the bottle he'd immediately opened and taken a sip from, Derek wrinkled his eyebrows. "He's going to do that here? I thought we'd have to go to the station."

John shook his head. "I'm treating you as if you're under official witness protection. Normally, that would be at a safe house and the FBI would be involved as well — which, honestly, I'm going to have to involve that fucker McCall since your kidnappers crossed state lines to bring you here. But I'll let Jordan handle that asshole since he's running lead on your case."

Tapping his fingers against his thigh distractedly, John reviewed all the balls he currently had in the air. There was Chris, tracking the hunters, Jordan _officially_ tracking Derek's kidnappers, about ten other cases that he'd assigned out that were unsolved but could handle themselves with minimal oversight, Scott and the local pack to worry about, Ito's pack to check in with while the hunters were M.I.A., and—

John blinked at Derek, noticing the little, half-hidden smile on his face. "What?"

Derek shrugged, looking down at where his fingers were fiddling with the water bottled, crackling the plastic a little in his grip. "It's just… Stiles does that. The tapping thing."

Forehead crinkling in confusion, it took John a minute to figure out what Derek was talking about and then he let out a little huff of laughter as he flexed his fingers between them. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess," he murmured. Then he handed the phone to Derek, the mention of Stiles making him realize he didn't know if _Derek_ had anyone he wanted to contact. "Call whoever you need to," he said when Derek just frowned at him, head tilted. "Your sister or anyone in Alaska who might be able to check on your place for you."

Derek reached out, gingerly taking the phone and turning it over in his hands. "There isn't anyone in Alaska," he murmured thoughtfully, making something in John's stomach tighten at the thought of this man completely alone for… who knows how long. "And Cora's in Argentina…?" 

The look on Derek's face was questioning, probably because of international charges, but John just waved his concern off as he heard the slamming of a car door outside. "Call her. If nothing else, to let her know where you are, but also because we're not sure why these people targeted you. Give her a head's up."

Derek's face went pale, but John knew he would eventually have worked his way around to that conclusion himself, so he didn't feel too bad about putting the thought in the young man's head. 

While Derek shakily dialled Cora's number, John went to the front door, pulling it open to see Stiles and Lydia mounting the steps, Lydia in the lead with her head held high, eyes sparkling prettily. Stiles followed after her, face patchy with a flush as he lugged what looked like his body weight in shopping bags. The only thing missing from the scene was a leash and nose ring for Lydia to drag Stiles along by. 

John shook his head, sighing audibly. "Jesus, kid. I told you to pick up a few necessities. How much did this set me back?"

Lydia pursed her lips and smacked him lightly on the arm. "Sheriff, I'm disappointed in you. Letting _Stiles_ pick out clothes for _anyone_ is unforgivable. Thankfully I ran into him just in time to get him to put back all the atrocious flannel."

John sent a flat look at Stiles, who rolled his eyes. "What? He's been living in _Alaska_. He's practically a lumberjack anyway, may as well give him the costume. Plus, they were on sale."

"Well, come on in, kids. Stiles, did you remember to get some food?" John asked, relieving Stiles of a few of the bigger bags hanging precariously from his strangled fingers.

"Yeah, it's still in the car though. I got two buckets of KFC. The pack normally needs more protein-rich calories after the level healing Derek had to do, so I figured pizza was the wrong choice."

John's mouth started watering, teeth itching to sink into the crispy fried goodness. 

That is, until Stiles got a mean glint in his eye and added, "Grilled, of course."

—

John closed the door after Stiles and Lydia, rolling his neck a little in exhaustion as he flipped the deadbolt. Walking slowly back to the kitchen, he leaned against the doorway and watched as Derek parceled out the few pieces of chicken into resealable bags and stowed them into the refrigerator. "You didn't have to clean up," he said quietly, mostly to fill the silence that had settled over the house with Stiles' departure.

Shrugging, Derek crumpled the take out containers into a ball before depositing them into the trash can. "I don't mind. Besides, if I'm staying here for a while, I want to pull my weight." 

There was something about the look on his face and the set of his shoulders that made John step forward and put a reassuring hand on the back of his neck. Even as he watched Derek slowly relax, he could feel the coiled tension in his own muscles begin to dissolve. He let out a weary sigh and tugged on Derek until the younger man was wrapped up in his arms, leaning almost all of his body weight into John. 

"I know it's early still," John murmured, eyes sliding to the glowing numbers on the microwave that proclaimed it not yet 8:30 pm. "But it's been a long damn day, and I'm exhausted. You ready for bed?"

Derek stiffened in his arms, drawing back a bit.

Heading off the panic he could damn near _feel_ building in Derek, John softly added, "I've got a guest bedroom if you're not comfortable sharing. If you wanna share, that's good too. I'll admit, I'll sleep better knowing you're in arm's reach, but I'm more concerned with what makes _you_ comfortable."

Relaxing against him again with a long, slow breath out, Derek stayed there for a moment before pulling away to look into John's eyes. "I don't want to be alone," he admitted, eyes flinching a little at the corners.

John tightened his grip on the back of Derek's neck, squeezing just a little to center him, center them both. "Then let's go get some sleep."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lateness of this chapter. Glompfest took over my fannish life there for a while. We should be back on track now, though!! Enjoy.

John came awake slowly, a heavy weight pressing him down into the mattress. For a few seconds, he let his mind wander to the last time he'd felt the sweet privilege of waking under another body.

Then it had been Claudia, and they'd wake to find her hair tangled all around them. She'd been a drooler, his late wife, and always managed to sprawl on him _just right_ to make his arm fall asleep. She hadn't liked being held once asleep, though; being confined gave her nightmares of being trapped, so he'd learned over the years to sleep with his hands by his sides.

Which was why it was slightly surprising to find that his arms were wrapped up tight around Derek's broad form, his back nothing but smooth skin under John's left hand as his right cradled the back of Derek's head where it was tucked up under John's chin. For all that Derek was physically bigger than John, he was curled up like a kitten. A broad, muscular, very _male_ kitten, judging by the hard length pressed against John's thigh. 

Considering Derek had a good thirty pounds on him, John should have been too uncomfortable to sleep well, should probably have had to fight to breathe, but really? He'd slept better the previous night than he had in years. 

Being a sheriff meant random middle-of-the-night wake-up calls from the station. It meant shift work that prevented him from having anything like a normal sleep schedule. And in the past several years, it meant late nights researching supernatural creatures in an attempt to circumvent the kinds of disasters Beacon Hills attracted.

It was that thought that made John sigh and scritch his fingers through the thick hair at the back of Derek's head. "Hey," he murmured softly, giving Derek's back a quick stroke until his palm was fitted neatly against the dip at the base of Derek's spine. "If we're going to eat before Parrish gets here, you need to let me up so I can go make breakfast."

Derek snuffled a little further into John's chest for a moment before his whole body froze. 

Expecting that reaction, John just made a shushing noise as he scrubbed his chin against the top of Derek's head. "It's all right; you're safe."

If possible, Derek went even more stiff before edging his hips away from John's thigh. "Sorry," he mumbled, keeping his head ducked low.

John could only laugh, a low, sleep-husky sound. "Nothing to be sorry about. It may happen less frequently than it used to, but don't think even us old guys are immune from that particular wake up call. I'm gonna hit the head; just grab whatever of my clothes fit you and come down when you're ready."

John rolled to the edge of the bed and dropped his feet to the floor, pushing himself to a sitting position as he waited for his normal aches and pains to let themselves be known. When he felt none, he raised his eyebrows and cautiously stood. His feet let out a minor grumble at the shift of weight, but it was nothing like the normal stiffness he felt in the small bones and tired muscles. 

Hot damn. He could get used to this Alpha business.

Turning to mention something to that effect, John noticed Derek was sitting with his head ducked, the tips of his ears still a dull red. Shaking his head, John ruffled the mussed hair atop Derek's head as he stepped lightly past him on the way to the bathroom to take his morning piss.

\--

John had the bacon and toast ready and was sprinkling a handful of shredded cheese over scrambled eggs when Derek finally sidled into the kitchen nearly thirty minutes later. Considering his eyes were still locked on the floor tiles like they held the secrets of the universe, John had a feeling they needed to clear a few things up.

"All right, that's enough of that," he muttered, turning off the stove burner with a decisive twist of his fingers. "Look at me, Derek."

When Derek's chin snapped up, the flare of surprise in his eyes combined with the confused crinkle of his eyebrows made John back track a bit. Considering everything he'd learned in the last twenty four hours, John bit off a muttered curse before shaking his head and dumping the eggs onto their plates.

Walking over to the table, he jerked his chin at the other chairs before he hooked his ankle around the one he usually used -- when it wasn't just him eating in his chair in the living room -- and eased it out. "Come on. We need to talk, and you don't want cold eggs."

When Derek eased down onto the chair like it might splinter under his weight, John let out a sigh and stabbed his fork into his eggs. "Look, you're… what? Twenty five?"

Derek lifted his eyes to John's again, of his own volition this time. "Yeah," he said, his voice lightly inflected on the end almost like a question.

"You and I both know the state of a man's body when he wakes up doesn't mean a blessed thing other than that your body is healthy and in working order. So stop looking like a whipped puppy and eat your eggs." 

Derek's mouth quirked at the corner before he slowly scooped up a forkful of cheesy eggs and began to eat. John watched him for a minute before grunting in satisfaction and steadily devouring his own breakfast.

He thought the conversation was over, he really did, which was why he just stared blankly ten minutes later when Derek quietly asked, "What if it means more?"

"What if what--?" John got out before it hit him. What Derek was saying. "Oh."

Derek's expression went pinched, then closed off before he muttered, "Never mind. I'll clean up here and--" He was already halfway to the sink with both of their plates before John could react.

"Sit down." John rolled his eyes when Derek stopped so abruptly one of the forks slipped off a plate to clatter to the floor. "Jesus, we need to figure out how to get that under control." Trying again, he softened his voice to something less like an order and said, "Please come sit down."

Like he was testing his ability to do so, Derek continued into the kitchen and loaded the plates into the dishwasher first before coming back and slipping into his chair. He raised his eyes to John's without being asked, but they still looked a bit too dark. Too closed-off.

John spread his hands on the table, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "You were gone for a long time, Derek. I saw you for the first time in better than a year _yesterday_. A lot has happened in the last twenty four hours."

Derek's gaze dropped then, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. "I understand."

"Really?" John sat back, eyebrows raised. "Care to explain it to me?"

"You don't want--"

"To rush into anything? That's exactly right." Reaching forward, John let his hand settle over Derek's clenched fist. "A lot has happened. It would be not just stupid but irresponsible of us to pursue anything at this point. You're smart and beautiful, and in three weeks or three months, when all our outside entanglements have settled down, I'd love to revisit this conversation."

A sharp rap at the front door made John roll his eyes and push to his feet. "But right now, those outside entanglements are calling, and we have to go deal with them."

John hurried to the door before Parrish could knock again, relieved to hear Derek's soft tread following behind him. When he pulled open the door, John was surprised to see not only Parrish but Deputy Clark as well.

"Good morning, sir," Clark said, hooking her thumbs in her gun belt. 

"Morning," John greeted her, a little slow, as Derek hovered in the hallway somewhere behind him but close enough for John to feel his presence. Letting his gaze roam toward Parrish, he was surprised to notice the orangey sparks flaring in his deputy's eyes. "Jordan, are you--"

"We've come to pledge ourselves to you," Parrish said, something a little bit formal in his tone. "Alpha Stilinski."

"Oh, hell," John muttered, just before a curl of something warm and _solid_ rolled through him.

**Author's Note:**

> I [tumbl.](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com)


End file.
